Chronicles of a Khajiit
by Vixen's-Enigma
Summary: Kie'dikef was a pathetic Khajiit, who couldn't fit in anywhere. Escaping to Skyrim seemed like a grand place to start over and begin life anew, but being captured, nearly executed, and burned to death is anything but grand. Until she discovers that a foreigner like herself is something to be awed and feared in this new world. Now that she is a Dovahkiin, what path will she take?


_Sundas_

_17__th__ of Last Seed_

_4E 201_

Whether I had escaped Death or had simply fell between his fingers, I cannot say. As I try to recall what happened, my memories slip from me like water. I was crossing the border, hiding among a trade caravan when bandits ambushed us. The raid scattered our group and I was the unlucky one captured. Among my kin, I was a pathetic Khajiit. I was far too small to work for mercenaries, artisans laughed at my crafts, I never made a profit as a merchant what with my gullible and light-hearted nature. The only way I survived was by stealing and by hunting.

However, my stripped and dappled fur couldn't hide me from the Nords, and as I waited for the sweet kiss of steel to snatch my life, I saw something remarkable and terrifying. A shadow rode the wind and landed on the tower that stood behind my executioner, its red eyes peering into my own. A dragon. It spoke in a tongue I did not understand, but the sky turned dark and fire rained down from the heavens, and a blast cast me across the courtyard like a fallen leaf. Ralof pulled me to my feet and hurried me inside a nearby tower and conversed with a Jarl named Ulfric. Our imminent deaths did not seem so imminent, and we had all made our escape, jumping through fires and fallen buildings as the Imperials struggled to fight off the dragon.

I had gathered armor, weapons and gold from where I could find it, and for the first time I had felt the weight of a sword, felt as both swords pierced through a man's chest and the spray of blood on my face. I now had a fierce desire to live, something I did not think I had anymore. We escaped Helgen, Ralof and I, and he led me to his sister's home in Riverwood to the south, where I could recoup. Gerurd was very kind and had given me money and gold. For staying at her house, she had asked a request from me.

"Please Kie'dikef, go to Whiterun, and tell them of the Dragons. Riverwood does not have the power to hold off the might of a dragon. Please, help us."

Every instinct in my bones told me to run, to find a cut of land to live off of, but I could not simply walk away, not after all the help I had received from her brother and her. I had made it to Whiterun, where they were not willing to accept the idea of dragons returning so easily, all except for Jarl Balgruuf. He had sent men to help defend Riverwood, but my task was not yet done.

Jarl Blagruff asked me to fetch the Dragonstone, so that they might learn more about the dragon's return to the world, and had promised me an amount of gold that I could not refuse. Crawling through an old tomb, I came upon….something that I do not have any understanding of. Entering a large and open cavern, I found a stone wall with strange markings. Compelled, I stepped closer. I reached out and brushed the stone, and the words glowed with a faint blue light. A power rushed through me and words echoed inside my mind, branding a mark that made my head burn with pain. Among my screams, it would seem I woke the dead, as a skeleton corpse crawled out of its sarcophagus and charged with a great sword in hand. In fear for my life, I desperately swung my swords and had managed to end the skeleton's movements. With little experience I had with a sword, I was doing well so far. I searched through the remains and found the stone tablet that the mage requested.

I returned with the stone, only to find that a dragon had attacked a tower outside Whiterun, and that I had somehow been expected to aid in the fight. My plan was to simply run, I did enough for man, and I did not want to tempt fate any more than I already had. I had no obligation to these people, only to myself, the single Khajiit that had made her escape from Helgen. But the dragon sought me out, bloodied and hungry for weak prey. Diving, rolling, and dodging, I tried to slip away from the dragon's sight, but it never lost sight. I was left with no other option. Among the tussle, I had managed to evade its razor-sharp teeth as it snapped at my stomach. I unsheathed my swords, and I slammed them into the dragon's skull. The dragon's roar was cut short, dying down to a death rattle in it's throat; I did not come this far to become food now.

The body slumped to the ground as did I, tired and shaken from brushing with death multiple times in one day. And as the men from Whiterun gathered around, something strange started to happen. The dragon's scales sparked and began to burn, melting away flesh and muscle. A light from the fire rose and raced to me, striking me in the chest. I felt no pain, instead I felt strength flood my body and the branded words in my mind were no longer a riddle. I spoke the language, and a power raced from my mouth to the fallen tower, making it quake where it stood. I had no inclination of what this meant, but someone did. A mere guard, watching in awe.

"You took the dragon's soul, you performed a Shout. I…can't believe it. You're a dovahkiin; a Dragonborn."


End file.
